


Next to You

by AvengersNewB



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, As in Tony's parents, Canonical Character Death, Civil War Fix-It, Dogs, Domestic, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, No Steve Rogers Bashing, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Possessive Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Potential Tony Stark and Stephen Strange relationship, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony and Steve were together before CACW, Tony still lives in the tower, but just as a reality shift so not really?, but they never get together, steve rogers friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22283566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvengersNewB/pseuds/AvengersNewB
Summary: It’s been seven years since CACW, seven years since Tony has seen Steve. Tony’s been trying to move on, well sorta, but the moment has never been right.Then one night, out of the blue, the phone rings and Steve wants tocatch up. Tony doesn’t really need that right? What is there to catch up about? This might be a sign, he thinks, to finally move on.The universe has a different plan though.With a bit of Strange’s magic, Tony wakes up in aslightly shifted reality, next to Steve Rogers who is a bit smaller than Tony remembers him to be and … a couple of kids.Suburban life, no money, no powers and baggage that follows him around, literally everywhere.----This is NOT IronStrange, they are not dating at all and Strange only shows up in two scenes in the first chapters and he is actually a nice guy :) Stony all the way, no Steve bashing, completely Steve friendly <3
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 62
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IronPhoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronPhoenix/gifts).



> I am so grateful for your constant support, I really hope you enjoy my take on your favorite holidays movie 💕
> 
> Huge thank you to [BuckyAboveEverything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckyAboveEverything) for beta and cheering, love you babe ❤
> 
> So here is my supposedly one shot Christmas fic, which turned out to be a full fledged, long multi chapter thing, which has barely got anything to do with Christmas, yay!!
> 
> This is loosely based on the [Family Man](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0218967/) but you should be ok enjoying it without having watched the movie.
> 
> Weekly updates - Wednesdays!

Tony is having a _blast_ at the Columbia Children's Gala. 

The finger food is surprisingly delicious, mostly large enough to create some visual pleasure on top of the taste, and the open bar includes Glendronach 18, which is an instant win, no matter the circumstances. The Astor Hall is flickering with thousands of fairy lights and hundreds of candles and it’s even snowing, so it’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.

The fact that he is spending Christmas Eve among total strangers is beside the point really. Someone had to present the one million dollar SI check and no one looks better than Tony Stark himself for all the camera flashes and all the handshakes. It’s not like he has anything better to do tonight anyway, as Pepper is stuck in Malibu, Rhodey is volunteering at the Home for Heroes Christmas Eve dinner, and Peter is enjoying a sunny afternoon on the other side of the planet because MJ wants to have Christmas at the beach, the Aussie style. And he is not technically among complete strangers because Strange is at the gala too, as Tony’s unofficial plus one. Just the usual stuff, the normal non-boyfriends who don’t arrive together and don’t dance together but they have to spend Christmas Eve together; casually. 

And it’s almost over. All the photos are taken, and all the flashy donations have been made. It’s that sweet bit of the night when voices are whispering and blurry bodies sway on the dance floor that it happens. 

The phone rings. 

***

It’s been seven years.

Or four years, three months and twenty six days, to be exact, since the day he almost lost the phone in a battle with Count Nefaria and decided to add the SIM card to FRIDAY’s communication system, after carrying it around for two years, four months and nine days. 

Tony rolls his eyes at FRIDAY because this is just insane. There is no chance that this call was made to the stupid flip phone, and who knows where the hell the stupid flip phone is anyway? FRIDAY rolls her hypothetical eyes back at him, and Tony regrets making his AIs too smart for their own good. _The stupid flip phone_ is fully charged and is in the drawer of the nightstand on the right side of his bed, so it’s on the same side that he sleeps, just in case. FRIDAY has also double-checked the source and destination of the call and has run the latest version of the voice recognition algorithm on the voice message. 

There is a voice message. Stark Technology identified and all, from Steve Rogers with no mistakes and no technical glitches. It’s insane. But it’s also true.

Tony slips into a bathroom at the end of the corridor and locks the door behind him. He stares at his StarkPhone for a few seconds and blames those extra two to four glasses of whiskey for the many times he tries and misses to tap the correct button to play the voice message.

_“Hey, Tony … this is Steve Rogers… well obviously … because … the phone … anyway. I was not sure if the phone would be on or not … and I am … glad that it is. I was wondering if you wanted to ... catch up? I’ll be in town for a couple of days and thought … maybe … well, give me a call if you are up for it, yeah? I hear that Hole in the Wall still serves amazing coffee.”_

Tony is tipsy. Well, slightly more than tipsy because his head suddenly starts to spin and he feels like throwing up. Steve’s voice rings in his ears but the words are floating over his head and are not quite sinking in. He locks his phone, puts it back in his pocket and holds on to the edge of the sink. He needs to do something with his hands before he can drink dial Steve fucking Rogers after seven fucking years. 

***

He doesn’t drink dial anyone. He doesn't cry either which, considering the number of neat whiskeys and the way he is still overwhelmed and shaky, is a small victory of its own. He sneaks out of the bathroom and, sure, bumps into Strange who just happens to be there, the same way he has been there all night. Or all the time, Tony thinks, at least for the past five years; as if watching over him constantly. He is just too close this time, almost in Tony’s face and, damn, he smells amazing.

“Are you okay? You took forever in there.” Strange asks, pointing his chin to the bathroom.

“Much required time Doc, much required time.” Tony smiles, and he sounds lighter than he feels.

Strange smiles back at him and his eyes are calm and grounding. He leans forward and Tony can swear that he is going to kiss him, but he brushes a non-existing piece of something off the back of Tony’s jacket instead. He stays like that, for far too long and then finally leans back, his hand casually lingering on Tony’s shoulder.

Tony stares at the way something painful shadows Strange’s eyes, and he wonders how many more nights, months, and years this would go on for. How many not-dates in not romantic, but totally romantic restaurants, and how many more casual hour-long phone calls would it take, for Strange to finally decide to ask Tony out? How many more times, Tony has to flutter his eyelashes and pretend to be dizzy for Strange to finally take the last step, hold Tony in his arms and kiss him until he can’t breathe anymore?

“Take me home?” he asks, as he flutters his eyelashes and holds on to Strange’s arm, not pretending, but because he is actually dizzy.

***

Manhattan is cold and uncharacteristically quiet. There is a thin layer of snow coating everything in sight and the only footprints on the sidewalk are theirs. Strange has an arm around his waist and Tony is leaning to his side because it’s warm and soft and Tony’s just that appropriate level of drunk to get away with it.

Tony can just lean closer and wrap his arm around Strange’s waist. He can press his face to his neck or kiss his ear or something. It’s the perfect opportunity, really. He can be the one to take the last step to finally close this five-year gap. The fact that Steve has called tonight, instead of any other night, should mean something. It has to be a sign, a token, the fucking belated closure that Tony has wanted for so long and so badly deserves. 

What could Steve possibly want to catch up on anyway? 

Is he interested to know how Tony feels about being dumped in Siberia like a useless sack of potatoes? Does he care to learn about the ways Tony has tried to mend his broken heart? Or the number of years before he has finally managed to sleep for three hours straight without waking in puddles of sweat at least ten times through the night? Does he have some stress management advice for Tony, just for kicks, about how music is supposed to be beneficial for mental health? 

_Tony, Have you tried listening to “Careless Whisper”?_

That’s it. That’s enough.  
It’s time to fuck the gap.

“Do you wanna … come up?” 

They are standing in front of the main entrance of the tower already. Tony has tried to _slow down_ , he really has, but there is only so much he can do to drag half a mile out. It’s not snowing anymore, and the wind has got more chill to it, so Tony blames the wind for the shiver going down his spine right now.

Tony’s finger hovers over Strange’s hair for a second. He touches the grey strands, brushing them away just a little and concentrates on the thrill building up deep in his core, which is distracting him from the dull pain that’s pressing on his heart. Well, mostly.

“Do you?” 

Strange tilts his head as if Tony’s finger is pulling him to the side. He reaches for Tony’s hand in his hair, wraps his own hand around it and holds it there for a second. Something is happening right there. There is this feeling, this distinct energy that’s somehow swirling around them. Strange has that magical sparkle in his eyes again, just for that second, before he squeezes Tony’s hand gently and brings it down.

“Tony, that’s not a good idea,” Strange whispers. He smiles with his usual tenderness, that’s now back in his eyes and Tony’s crazy heartbeat starts to slow down, half in disappointment and half in relief. 

“But, I really want you to,” he whispers back, knowing that it’s not gonna happen. The moment has passed and the gap is staying there at least till tomorrow.

“No Tony. I don’t think that’s what you want. I don’t think you know what you actually want.” Strange says and his tone is too flat. He then lets go of Tony’s fingers and runs his hand through his hair, pushing them back to cover his forehead. 

“I know what I want. I am damn certain about what I want. What, you think I am drunk or something?” Tony is certainly not whispering anymore. He shoves his still-warm-from-the-touch hand into his pants pocket because he is not really planning to punch the guy into accepting his offer. 

He expects Strange to become defensive or come up with an excuse. He is also mentally weighing the chances of being dumped, here, right in front of his tower, with the night security guard … Hank ... watching. 

None of that happens, obviously. Strange is his calm and collected self, just like the medical professional that he is, and he smiles as if Tony’s suddenly not a boyfriend-to-be, but an ex-patient. 

“No, I am not saying you’re drunk. You say you're damn certain of what you want and I should jump at the opportunity but I obviously can’t. I have waited so long for this Tony, you know I want it so bad. But It's crystal clear now; you want the wrong thing and you are sure about it. That could mean catastrophe the universe can’t afford Tony. I wish you were at least not so sure about it. I am sorry Tony. I am really really sorry,” he says, and he looks genuinely sorry. 

Tony is not really following what he is hearing anymore. A catastrophe, the universe can’t afford? And Strange is sorry because Tony is … sure? He is not suggesting that Tony is _not sure,_ but he is sorry that he is. This should be the other way around though, people should be happy when they are sure they want each other. 

Strange leans forward and his lips touch the corner of Tony’s mouth, right where it’s still the cheek but it’s also too close to the lips, and for a fraction of a second, Tony can see that confusing shadow of pain in his eyes again, before he has to close his eyes and deal with the emotional downpour that is suddenly washing over him.

Tony doesn’t need to open his eyes to know it. Strange is gone. 

***

He goes to bed, almost fully clothed, and asks FRIDAY not to wake him even if the world is coming to an end. He obviously revises that, to be woken up _if_ the world comes to an end or if Peter calls, before ordering her to put the penthouse on complete lockdown and full blackout.

He then asks, pretty nicely to make up for being rude back in the gala, to have Steve’s message played and listens to Steve’s now slightly higher voice and the way he obviously chokes after saying _Hey Tony_ , for 3247 times before he finally falls asleep.

***

He can tell that something is off even before he opens his eyes. He is still asleep, but he can feel that the room is too bright. He wonders if the world is coming to an end or if FRIDAY is punishing him for his unacceptable behavior, but in his sleepy haze, neither seems likely. He turns to his side and ignores the unusual softness of the mattress under him that makes his body wiggle as he turns. 

The suspicious noise coming from somewhere behind a wall or a closed-door can’t be an attack, right? Because there are no alarms and also, Tony is too sleepy to really care. The noise gets closer and closer though, and sleep seems more and more impossible. Tony is ready to open his eyes and yell at FRIDAY when the door slams open and unmistakable footsteps run through the door. Tony is suddenly alert. He opens his eyes, touches his chest and shouts for FRIDAY to initiate the Protect Protocol, but there is nothing on his chest and FRIDAY is nowhere to be heard. And then, right before he sits up and tries to defend himself with hand-to-hand combat, something quite small falls on his chest, followed by something slightly bigger and both things start to … tickle him. 

Okay, he might still be asleep. The things on his chest don't look like any villains. The two giggling masses, that are heavy enough to make breathing quite difficult, are made out of flesh and look a lot like human children.

Part of him wants to tackle them because why on earth should a couple of kids be in his penthouse, in his room and on top of him? The other part, however, can’t bring himself to attack anything that sounds that happy and seems that harmless. 

He rubs his eyes and blinks a few times, hoping to massage the sleep away and focus on what’s unfolding in front of him and then takes another look at the small humans who have now proceeded to jump on his stomach. The smaller thing which seems to be a dark-haired boy, bounces, wobbles, and lands on his front and suddenly his face is all Tony can see. With a combination of surprise and horror, he realizes that he actually recognizes this face and it does not make any sense because there is only one extremely chatty person in the whole universe who has those big eyes and that round face. The only problem is that Peter is a little too old to be jumping up and down on Tony’s bed, wearing a diaper, and as far as Tony is concerned, he is jet-lagged and out cold in Shangri La Hotel in the heart of Melbourne city.

He reaches with one hand to hold up this mini version of Peter, and wow, _what the hell is that smell_ , and grabs the other little thing, stopping it from doing whatever it seems to be doing to Tony’s toes. The bigger little thing is actually a red-haired girl who is at least twice the size of the mini Peter and, well, Tony has no idea how old they would be if they were actual humans. The little girl does not appreciate being dragged away from Tony's feet because she pouts and, _rude,_ blows a raspberry so Tony wraps one arm around each of them, maximum effort to keep both of them as far away from himself as possible, and jumps off the bed. He takes another look at both of them as the little boy clings to his hand and starts to lick his finger which apparently grosses the little girl out because she blows another raspberry and sticks her tongue out at the little boy. 

This is some seriously crazy shit Tony has never seen before. Among all the villains he has fought over the years, intergalactic or ethereal, he has never had to deal with a couple who are too realistic to be robots and too bouncy to be Skrulls. The foul smell coming from the diapered thing is too overwhelming and the weight of the two _kids_ is a little too much for his spasming-for-no-reason back, and just as he contemplates putting them down, or maybe one of them, just to be safe, the mini Peter licks his finger again and then, for the love of God, bites it.

“SHIIITTTTTT!” 

Both little creatures look at him, with open mouths, and Tony suddenly recognizes the little girl too. Shocked and in pain, he looks at the much much younger version of the girl who has thrown cars at him the last time they talked and puts her down, taking a step back, still holding on to mini Peter. Then, as if dealing with two shrunken adults is not enough, he hears a voice, and for a few seconds, his cognitive system comes to a full halt. 

“LANGUAGE!!!!!”

Someone is lying on the bed Tony has just woken up on, which by the way, is too small to be a queen bed let alone his California king one, and he has to be the one who has said the thing. He looks at the mini Peter and glances over the red-haired girl, with the name Tony now fully remembers but is not willing to use, like ever. He looks back at the bed, trying to ignore the fact that the room he is standing in right now is barely big enough to have this bed fit in and his brain finally starts the recognition process. 

Tony will never forget that voice anyway. It’s been ringing in his ears every single day for the past seven years, as much as he has tried to fucking forget about it, and he has just listened to it on repeat last night before finally passing out. Even if the man, half-visible between the suspiciously cheap-looking sheets, is taking too little space on the bed to be the owner of that voice; it’s him. It’s Steve I’ll-never-stop-fucking-with-your-life Rogers.

He sits up, runs a hand through his hair and shoots a very familiar disapproving look at Tony before opening his arms and pulling the little girl who has now climbed on the bed onto his lap. Mini Peter wiggles in his arm, so Tony brings him closer absent-mindedly and tightens the grip around his waist. He tries but he can’t peel his eyes off the man on the bed who is now cradling the little girl’s head on his chest. He wonders if he is dead and is finally sentenced to hell or has been drugged by Sunset again because, well let’s face it, he is in a room he doesn’t recognize, holding a foul-smelling Peter in one arm and looking at a man who is Steve Rogers, only 150 lbs lighter and 10 inches shorter, and is running his fingers through a head of messy red hair. 

“I am sorry, Wanda. Daddy is a little cranky today.” He looks at Tony again, the power of his disapproval not any lighter or shorter. 

Okay, sorry, _daddy?_ Who is whose daddy again?

“But it’s Christmas, Pops. Daddy used the S-word and he put me down, but he is still holding Peter.” and she turns to Tony, and her eyes are ridiculously sad. 

“Daddy needs coffee right now, baby. He will make the Christmas chocolate chip pancakes as we clean up and brush. Right, Tony? Do you mind being a little more Christmassy?” 

Tony is literally speechless. This, all of this can’t be real. Just, no. Can’t. 

“Does Petey need a change of diaper? Come here, Baba. Let Daddy go make the pancakes, okay?” and he stretches out an arm that is much smaller than the one in Tony’s best and worst memories, toward Tony and, well, Petey.

Tony holds Peter out, like one would a football, and cautiously walks the couple of steps to the bed. He lowers the smelly little boy onto the bed, turns on his heels and runs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [BuckyAboveEverything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckyAboveEverything) thank you so much for beta and cheering, you're my angel and my hero! ❤

They don’t let him go past the lobby.

Hank, who said goodnight to him last night as the main elevator door was closing, shakes his head compassionately and looks Tony up and down. Ernie, the guy that Tony has pulled rank with HR to keep on contract even though he is too old to guard a kitten these days, smiles at him warmly and asks if Tony has eaten anything that day. 

No one knows him. No one knows Tony Stark. 

Or the Avengers, or Ms. Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, for that matter. The tower does not even belong to Stark Industries. Mel points to the wall behind the information desk and reads the words for Tony in a totally non-condescending way as if wearing a shabby red and green Christmas pajamas suit and being barefoot in the New York winter has a direct relationship with one’s literacy. Tony can still read just fine, thank you very much, although he kinda wishes he could not right at this second. According to the letters printed in gold on the too-large directory board on the wall, right where a gigantic Gerhard Richter abstract was hanging last night, the tower belongs to Hammer. Justin Sleazebag Empty-Headed Supposed-to-be-Rotting-in-Jail Hammer.

Toofan, who’s name is actually pronounced like _too-fun_ , squeezes Tony’s shoulder and says something that he can’t understand because of the angry rush of blood that is roaring in his ears, as well as burning his cheeks. It doesn't really matter anyway. They sincerely have no idea who he is and he should be ashamed of himself for harassing these people, who are nice to pathetic _strangers_ and are trying to do their job on Christmas day. 

The situation is too absurd to be one of those elaborate expensive pranks, like the one Peter pulled two years ago, for so many reasons. The fact that Tony has literally run away from a house smaller than his bedroom in fucking Jersey is one for starters. Having had a meet-and-greet with Steve, Peter and the little redhead is another one, considering the fact that no one has come up with a working time machine that could successfully run time through people. And these people, who usually compete with each other to say hello and hold the door for him, are looking at him with slightly open mouths and sad eyes and Tony can swear that Anton is calling the Police or some sort of homeless helpline right now.

This is just impossible and yet it is happening right before his eyes; standing in a tower that does not belong to him, with too few layers for a snowy December day and shaking a little, trying to get to a life that doesn’t seem to exist anymore.

***

Tony is lost. He has no phone, at least on him, and no other piece of technology whatsoever. The minivan he has borrowed from the unidentified old lady he almost crashed into at the bottom of the stairs back in the house, doesn’t even have a GPS device and Tony is only 25 percent sure that the house is somewhere around Woodbridge because of the awful lot of time he spent on the Turnpike before finally getting on the Washington Bridge, on his way to Park Avenue.

Right now, he is parked somewhere in New Jersey, which is hopefully close enough to Woodbridge and has no idea where he should go next to get to the house.

 _The house_. _HIS house._ And he has no idea where it is. 

Perfect.

He is not sure how long he’s been sitting there, confused and paralyzed, with his head on the steering wheel, when there is a knock on the window. Tony lifts his head and turns to the window, wondering if being arrested for illegal parking and having no ID, or no real identity apparently, is about to be added to his Christmas misery, but the person standing outside of the window is not the Police. 

It’s a familiar face actually, Dr. Steven Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme, with all his cryptic assholery, and Tony is not quite sure how he is supposed to feel right now; extremely relieved or horribly terrified.

***

“Why would I even believe you? This might all be another Vor/Tex incident or me hallucinating while my body is stuck in a security cube somewhere in Doomstadt. Why wouldn’t I just kill you and everyone else?”

Tony is furious. He can feel the flow of blood through his veins and he is sure that Strange can hear the way his heart is beating so fucking fast in his chest. He feels like a huge ass moron right at this second and he is mostly mad at his own miserable stupid self because, why on earth would any sane and respectable person, who happens to hate magic so very deeply, let a magician get that close to them? This is all his own fault; like every other stupid thing in his stupid, pitiful life. 

Strange shifts in the passenger seat and turns to Tony with his usual gentle smile, as if this is just another casual hypothetical conversation they have all the time during their non-dates and, God, Tony wants to punch that smile off his face so fucking much.

“I trust that you know better than doing that. It wouldn’t do anyone any good really. This is no Vor/Tex and these are no brainwashed hallucinations. This is a reality, a slightly shifted one to be precise, but just that. _The_ reality. The only one, at least as far as you’re concerned.”

“So, what, I don’t get a say in it? I am stuck in this _reality_ for as long as you deem fit?” Tony almost yells as he bangs his fists against the steering wheel. 

Strange’s face does not change one bit though. “Not me Tony. Not me. It’s you. You decided to do something that is not supposed to happen and you seemed to be determined to do it one way or the other. Everything seemed to fall suddenly out of control and I could not keep the matters in order anymore. I am sorry to put it like this, but you kinda brought this upon yourself.” 

_“_ Violence is not the answer. Never. Except when we are fighting a villain, which I've assumed, wrongly perhaps, that you were not one.” Tony chants and clenches his fists harder. “ _Brought this upon myself?_ So, you are trying to teach me a lesson? What, am I four now and you’re suddenly my dad?” he breathes out, opening and closing his fingers as the way he has been pressing his nails into his palms is starting to actually hurt now. “What did I even say? I was drunk, man, I was drunk. You can’t prosecute and sentence a guy for speaking under influence” 

Strange shakes his head and his smile gets deeper, and for one second Tony feels a little unreasonable for being angry at those eyes and those laugh lines.

“You do remember, Tony. Don’t give me that innocent _I was drunk_ act” he whispers, as if trying to counter Tony’s yelling and for a second, just a mere short second, that same painful shadow darkens his eyes. “You made up your mind and seemed to be so determined about your decision to take extreme measures and erase any chances of a reconciliation that we can’t afford to forgo.”

Tony presses his lips together as he stares at Strange for a long moment and tries really hard to ignore the way his stomach is churning. 

“Extreme measures for erasing the chances of a reconciliation? What the actual fuck?”he shouts as he hits his fist against the steering wheel one more time. “You promised you would never look into the future if it invaded my privacy. I trusted you, bastard. You had no rights to -- fuck you. Fuck you and all your stupid powers and fuck me even more for trusting you.” Tony is yelling again and his eyes are stinging too, but there is no chance in burning hell that he would cry in front of this -- whatever. Not even worth coming up with smart ass insulting titles anymore.

Strange presses his lips together too, as he turns to face the road and runs his hands through his hair, messing it up as usual. “You think I am _happy_ to do this? I’ve been standing by for five fucking years Tony, waiting for the right moment, the safe moment, for everything to come together. The moment I could finally kiss you and hold you and never let you go, and I would have waited five more years if it meant I would finally get to the moment of holding you and not letting you go.” 

Tony is pressing his nails into his palms again. Partially because he wants to beat the shit out of him, so badly, but mostly to hold off from reaching over to wipe the single tear that is running down Strange’s stupid face.

“But it’s not gonna happen. The moment is not going to come, and you will never be ready to move on. Hell, you should not be, because that is the only chance the universe’s got. And the fact that you are so certain otherwise, _that_ needs to be fixed before you can fuck the destiny of the entire universe. I have no other choice, Tony. This is the only way. In the 14,000,605 possibilities ahead of us, this is the only chance we’ve got to survive.” He breaks off, leaning his head against the back of the seat. 

Tony turns to look at the road but the window is completely covered by snow. He starts the car, turns on the windshield wiper and watches the blank triangles forming on the window. He takes many deep breaths, trying to clear his head and to calm down. The Great Oracle in the passenger seat, has had scary visions before, but extremely low survival chances have never ever been a part of them. 

“What possibilities? You are not making any sense here, and I am starting to freak out. What is this only chance that you are talking about, Doc? What the hell is going to happen?”

Strange turns his face, head still on the headrest, and there, the gentle smile is back on his stupid smug face. He then leans forward, his eyes right on Tony’s and wiggles in the seat to take something out of his pants pocket. It’s a small card, Tony realizes, as Strange holds it out to him and places it on his lap.

He then kisses Tony’s hair out of the blue, sending a literal electric current that runs down Tony’s temple to his bare toes and before Tony can even blink, he opens the door and steps out of the car. Tony opens and closes his mouth but words are stuck in his throat. He just watches Strange as he wraps his camel fur coat around himself and bends down to face Tony again.

“If I tell you what happens,” he pauses for a second and takes a deep breath. “It is not going to happen.” and he closes the door, so Tony can’t see him anymore. 

***

It takes him a while to stop looking back and forth between the empty passenger seat and the card on his lap while trying to make some sense of this thing he can’t even put a name on. Without any additional information, however, there is nothing that he can do at this second to make some more sense of his situation. It’s infuriating and absolutely unfair but that’s nothing new. His life has always been like that. 

All he’s got is a one in 14 million chance he can’t afford to fuck up, whatever that is supposed to mean, and a semi-wrinkled business card that right now is worth more than the combined value of a phone, a laptop, and a GPS device. He pulls a map out of the glovebox, which seems to be as old as its owner, and tugs on the seat belt a few times before it finally releases. He struggles with the parking brake and wonders if the cable is rusty and needs to be changed, before he finally pushes on the gas pedal and … moves.

Sometimes you gotta run before you can walk, a wise man once said, and that’s what Tony is going to do.

He will run. And hope for the best.

***

The address on the card, _his_ business card, is actually the address of the house he has left in the morning. He lives and works in this weatherboard two-storey house which is completely in character to be honest. The fact that he repairs TVs and Vacuum Cleaners on the other hand-- well he chooses to ignore that for the time being.

He pauses right behind the door and takes a few deep breaths. Despite all the pep talks he has given himself during the torturously slow drive, he is still not ready to open this door and walk into to what apparently is a life with Steve Rogers. This Steve does not have super soldier strength, true, but that doesn’t change how Tony feels right now. 

The serum is not the reason why Tony had to cover his face and close his eyes when he was damn positive that the shield would crack his skull open, instead of shooting Steve with his perfectly working repulsors. His cracked sternum, which is supposedly healed but still hurts from time to time, especially on cold days like today, has nothing to do with Steve's super strength, or how he was bigger or better than Tony back then.

Nothing.

The _Siberia lump_ is just about to come back when the door opens and along with it, a flow of warm air and the heavenly scent of baked goods, and a person who runs out, jumps and wraps his hands around Tony’s neck. Tony, startled and out of words, looks up and down the body latching on to him and his hands clasp together around it, almost on their own accord. He breathes in and it’s just amazing, no it’s ridiculous, how the smell of hair pressed right into his nose and the faint scent of cologne pushes him down the time tunnel and takes him to a happy place, tucked in Steve’s arms, wrapped by his scent and safe. 

Then, the hands let go of his neck and the body pulls back. This Steve, whom Tony doesn’t have to lift his head to look into his eyes, stares at Tony for a few seconds and his face goes from sick worried, to blissfully relieved. He smiles at Tony and something tightens in Tony’s chest and as much as it should feel weird and unreal, it just doesn’t. Then right when Tony is starting to enjoy the warmth that is spreading from his heart to the back of his neck, Steve stops smiling and, ouch, starts punching Tony.

“What the hell, Tony? What the fucking hell? Where on earth did you disappear to? And for fuck’s sake why don’t you have your phone? Where were you, you fucking bastard?” and he just keeps punching, one after the other after the other and, okay, they hurt.

Tony lets go of Steve’s waist and grabs each of the punching fists in one hand. He holds tight for a second, still gazing into Steve’s eyes and wonders what he should do next.

“Ok, Steve, no need to get violent here. Can I, um, come in? It’s freezing and I don’t have any shoes on.” 

Tony is not sure if his voice has a special effect in this _slightly shifted reality_ , or he has finally acquired the power of convincing Steve. It could simply be the fact that he is actually not wearing shoes and he can’t feel his fingers as well, but Steve stops struggling in Tony’s arms and his eyes go soft. 

“I was worried to death. For a second… I thought … you have finally …” and he lowers his eyes, takes a deep wheezing breath and, holy crap, tears start running down his cheeks.

***

Finding the inhaler is a miracle of its own. Steve is coughing and his pale skin is almost bluish. He claws at his chest and looks at Tony, pointing at a vague space behind him and it takes Tony a few moments before he realizes what he needs to do. He curses his luck and all the Asgardian gods and comes up with 24 different plans to kick Strange’s ass before he finally finds the damn inhaler in the fucking utensils drawer and hands it to Steve. He then fills a seemingly clean plastic green cup he finds by the sink with water and puts it in front of Steve on the kitchen table. Steve still looks very pale but his breathing sounds slightly better now. Tony watches him as he drinks all of the water and, well, thank God, he doesn’t look blue anymore.

“I would tell you where I’ve been, but you are not going to believe me,” Tony pulls out a chair and sits on it. “I was in the city.” 

Steve looks up from his plastic cup and narrows his eyes, “The city? New York City? Why?” 

Tony puts his elbows on the thick plastic that’s covering the table and holds his head in his hands for a minute. He doesn’t want to make up a story and his brain is too tired for that anyway.

“I am not who you think I am. I am not this Tony.” 

Steve’s eyes can’t get any narrower really, “What?” 

“Look, this sounds weird,” Tony lets a deep breath out and take another deep breath in, “ but I am not really the Tony you know. I am not a dad, I don’t even live here. I own Stark Tower and Stark Industries. I am Tony Stark for God’s sake, and I don’t fucking live in fucking Jersey!”

Steve’s expression goes from concerned to shocked to pained and, wait, why is he laughing now?

“Tony,” he coughs a little and tries to catch his breath, “Oh my God, Tony, again?” He coughs and laughs and coughs again and finally stops.

Tony looks at Steve and tries to focus on what that _again_ could be referring to, but all he can think about is how he has never seen Steve, cough. Or sneeze or be short of breath. And the constant wheezing that is making his voice husky a little and it’s not really hot. Not at all.

“I can’t believe you spent Peter’s first Christmas in the city, having another stupid mid-life crisis. So what, you tried to pretend you don’t have a family?” Steve’s face is super serious now. “What did you do there without your shoes, though? Please tell me you did not drive all the way to Park Avenue to take a look at that tower again.” he puts his elbows on the table, shakes his head and leans his forehead on his hands. 

Tony doesn’t believe that this whole thing could get more confusing but, it apparently can, because _take a look at that tower again? WHAT?_

“Peter did not eat any of my pancakes and he could not stop calling you for at least half an hour before his morning nap. And Wanda, well she is so pissed I almost feel bad for you.”

Wanda’s name adds an unpleasant weight to the mass of this _thing_ and Tony can’t breathe for a second. “Well, guess what? I am pretty pissed at her too! Still can’t believe she threw those stupid cars at me. And what she did to vision? Why on earth did she have to bury him so deep in the ground?” and his voice is shaking from the rage he had no idea he still holds within him.

“Tony, come on! She is a kid! You can’t possibly still be angry at her. And Vision is fine, he has forgiven her, they love each other. Would you please let it go?”

Tony blinks a couple of times and wonders if he is hearing this right. He opens his mouth to say something, not quite sure what though, but Steve holds a hand up and Tony immediately shuts his mouth. Perfect. Captain America or not, Steve Rogers can hold a hand up and Tony will just shut up. Perfect. 

Just Perfect.

“I am so sorry for whatever you are feeling now but as long as no one is dead and you are not drinking again, I don’t have time to deal with this now. I’ve been running around like a headless chicken trying to fucking find you and if it was not for J’s help I would have had to cancel the party tonight. I will go help Ma to get the kids out of the bath and have them dressed before she takes them to hers.” 

He points to Tony with the hand he’s been holding up and oh wow, Tony may not even be able to admit to himself but he has missed that authoritative voice so very very much, “ You put away the toys scattered around the living room and the dollhouse on the dining table. Keep an eye on the ham and promise I won’t need to serve it burnt.” He pushes the chair back and stands up, still pointing to Tony with his index finger. “And you get changed. People will be here in less than an hour.” He flicks his finger a few times, stares at Tony half angry and half frustrated, just as he has almost always looked at him after a fight, and then turns and leaves the kitchen. Tony runs his hand on his face and listens to his footsteps creaking as he walks up the stairs. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [BuckyAboveEverything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckyAboveEverything) is the best.  
> I love you and thank you for beta <3<3

Tony is on slow-motion mode. He looks around the small kitchen, which is right out of an Ikea catalog and wonders how this, all of this, could have anything to do with the destiny of the universe. The kid’s seat and all the plasticware, for example, or the cheap party things that have obviously been bought in bulk - by him. 

Or the fridge that’s too small for a family, but it obviously belongs to one. It’s covered with kids’ drawings and standard family photos; first birthdays, pre-k graduation, Disneyland and … a wedding. 

He is married to Steve Rogers.  
Married.  
To -- 

Tony snatches the photo and tries to find a proper word for the pleasant sensation that is somehow blooming in his chest. It’s ridiculous and sappy and it’s not exactly real, but he feels happy and warm and his toes are not frozen anymore. The photo seems to be older than the rest of them, so it's probably from six or seven years ago. They are at the altar, at a non-descript venue, holding hands, and Tony is looking at the camera while Steve is looking at Tony. Tony looks at Steve’s eyes and the way his face-wide grin is so different yet so familiar and wonders if he has actually ever seen _his_ Steve that happy.

Then, out of the blue, a switch flicks in his brain, and the slow-motion mode is turned off. Nothing to do with the rushing memories of wedding ring catalogs and phone calls to negotiate booking out the whole venue at the Met, really. It’s just that he needs to clean up and check on the ham, whatever the hell that means, and change. 

Serum or no serum; It’s Cap’s orders. 

***

Tony is still collecting plush dolls and alphabet blocks from around the living room and has both of his hands full of toys when he hears a crowd arriving downstairs. He turns to the living room door and the next thing he knows, he is lying on the floor with a pair of paws on his chest, a golden barking at him like a crazy dog and all the toys are scattered around. Again.

“It’s okay buddy, It’s okay. Calm down, big dog. I am happy to see you too, just, please…maybe?”

Tony struggles to get away but the dog is too enthusiastic to let him go, and just to show how much he loves Tony, he decides to lick Tony’s face. He smells of dog all over his face, so it’s supposed to be gross but it’s so ridiculously heartwarming instead. Receiving this amount of wet and powerful love without having done one single fuck to deserve it is not something that happens to Tony every day, really. Or ever. 

“Vision! Get back here. Get off Tony, Now! It’s time to go to Granny’s.” Steve’s voice is calm and commanding, and the dog jumps off Tony instantly.

And … Vision? REALLY?

Steve holds his hand out and helps Tony stand up, with less power than Tony is used to, but still enough to pull him to his feet. He is holding Peter in one hand who is struggling to jump to Tony, and as soon as Tony is standing, Steve loosens his grip and without warning, Peter is dangling from his neck. Tony wraps his arm around Peter’s hip to ease some of the weight off his poor neck and follows Steve because, well, he gestured for Tony to follow him before turning to the door.

Peter is babbling into his ear and running his hands through Tony’s hair as he plants wet kisses on him. Tony can’t quite understand most of the words, except for _daddy_ , and that's not unusual, because most of what 23-year-old Peter tells him is also unintelligible. The little redhead, who shall not be named, is sitting on the last step and is struggling to tie her shoelaces. The dog, oh God, Vision, is running up and down the stairs and licking the little shoes every time he gets to the bottom, which can't possibly be helpful in the tying of her laces in any way. 

“Pooooooppss. I can’t tie my shoes!” she calls toward the kitchen where Steve has supposedly disappeared and then finally turns her head towards Tony and makes that familiar angry face that Tony dreams of punching sometimes, except that now he can’t because this one is actually and really a _kid_. 

“Get daddy to help you, Wanda,” Steve shouts from the kitchen, so she narrows her eyes even more and pouts and, wait, no, starts to cry. 

Tony sighs and is suddenly hit by a wave of self-resentment. This actually-just-a-kid is now crying and it’s all Tony’s fault. As always. 

Perfect. 

He sits Peter down on the step right above and makes her the neatest butterfly knots, but the stubborn little headache does not even look at him. She stands up, holds Peter’s hand and they both run to the door, just in time as Steve shows up from the kitchen holding a couple of food containers. Vision, the dog, runs down the stairs one last time and starts running in circles around the kids in the small foyer. 

“Tony, dear, I am so glad you are back,” says someone, so Tony turns back to the kitchen door and a tiny lady wraps her arms around him.

This is unbelievable. The Irish accent and Steve talking about his Ma in present tense and _Granny_ mean that Steve’s mom’s alive and apparently healthy and she has her arms around Tony. That’s pure magic. That is … just … wow. 

It might be the constant heart-wrenching sorrow inSteve’s eyes when he would talk about his childhood, or the way Tony has been missing his own mom every single day for the past 30 years, but so many emotions wash him over, as he hugs Sarah Rogers, tight, and God, she is absolutely real, and Sarah hugs him back even tighter. 

“Don’t scare him like that again, doll. He might not survive it next time,” She whispers, and Tony wonders if anyone else hears that or is even paying any attention with the coat-putting-on mayhem that’s going on at the door right now. Sarah lets go of him, looks into his eyes, still smiling gently, and touches his cheek as if they are in a scene of a holiday family movie. Tony smiles back, and something in his heart breaks and heals at the same time.

“Come on, Ma, guests will be here any second. Kids, say goodbye to Daddy and hop in Granny’s car,” Steve almost screams as he opens the door and struggles to keep Vision in, so adorably. Sarah picks Peter up as he waves to Tony and blows kisses and she squeezes out of the door. The smaller version of the Sokovian witch, on the other hand, frowns and stumps her feet, refusing to say goodbye and Tony wonders what it will take for him to come to terms with how hurtful this version of her is. She runs out, Vision running right after, and Steve follows them out of the door pulled by the force of the leash in his hand.

The door slams shut with a loud thump and everything goes suddenly quiet.

***

The water pressure is miserable and it just does not get warm. The hot water tank system is incapable of keeping up with the bathing needs of two grown-ups and two kids and Tony wonders why he hasn’t fixed this before; whatever mind-blowing concept _before_ would be in this situation. He shakes his head, splashing the lukewarm stream of water and pushes away the rage and despair that come with that line of thought and tries to focus on things he has the ability to influence; he has already detailed the hot-on-demand system that can easily handle two families showering in the same day. 

There is only one bottle of shampoo in the bathroom which is a conditioner too and it's a tragedy because there is no way for Tony to maintain his fabulous hair looks with home brand 1+1 products. There is also a bar of sheep-scent soap and one razor, so it’s a blessing that Tony only needs the soap this time, even though he kinda smells worse after using it. No bathrobes, of course, as they are too luxurious for New Jerseyans apparently, but the well-aged thinnish towel has been hanging on the warmer for a while and it feels … nice.

He goes through five shirts and three pairs of pants in the closet that seem to be his and doesn’t even bother to check the brands. He runs his hand on the sweater and jeans spread out on the bed and allows himself to feel a little gooey inside. Steve decides what stupid Christmas clothes his Tony wears and in the middle of bathing two kids, getting a party going, and recovering from an asthma attack thanks to Tony, finds the time to make sure the towel is warm when Tony is done with the sub-optimal showering situation. 

He flops onto the bed, face down, on the red sweater and lets the warm feeling of being taken care of by Steve wash over him. The sweater is rough and scratches his face, but it kinda smells like Steve, and it calms him down as if he's having a nap pressed against Steve's chest like he used to all those years ago.

The pain comes right when he drifts off; the flashing memories of the shield striking the arc reactor sharpen the constant dull pain he's been feeling all day, and it feels like something's crushing his chest and cracking his rib cage open.

The moment for indulgence is over.

This is not his life, and the guy wearing the matching sweater greeting the guests anytime now is not _his_ Steve. 

There is no point in being sappy about any of this. Whatever. What the fuck ever. 

Tony rubs his chest and swallows around the lump a few times. Then his brain switches to time-lapse mode, and he drags the sweater over his head and pulls up the jeans in the hopes of not getting his ass kicked for being late. He runs the shared hairbrush through his hair which does nothing for the curls that keep springing out and tries to straighten his hair with his fingers with absolutely no luck. 

There is a photo on the dresser mirror and the Tony who’s showing off the ring on Steve’s finger to the camera has a sparkle in his eyes that could light up a bush fire. That Tony also has wild curly hair which explains the non-existence of any sort of hair product in this room. He sighs and makes his hair evenly messy all over. Wild curly goes better with elf sweaters and Kirkland Jeans anyway.

***

Steve is jittery. 

He runs from the kitchen to the living room and back and there is something new he needs Tony to do each and every time. Tony sneaks away from the rest of the conversation with Clint about the Stone Inc proposal, to refill the chips, thank God, because what the fuck, and gets out of answering Bruce’s question about his latest advancements with Dum-E to get some ice.

A drink would be a great idea, at least to ease the awkwardness of smiling at these people whom he knows but he actually doesn't but the eggnog is completely non-Irish and the Christmas punch seems to have been made for teenagers only. Nothing alcoholic exists in any of the cabinets he opens and closes desperately as he follows Steve's orders. It's just … dry.

Nat is rambling on about people Tony has never heard of when Steve tumbles on the couch and sits between them. His face is all red and his breathing is alarmingly fast which makes Tony wish for some magical knowledge on asthma attacks, or a second to breathe and find a device with an internet connection. Steve kisses Nat’s cheek and continues the conversation Tony has been stuttering in and starts going back and forth with her about some sort of progress about each of the names. He then reaches over, without turning back, and presses his sweaty cold fingers to the back of Tony’s hands. Tony, trying to make sense of the conversation that’s apparently about a volunteering program Nat and Steve are involved in, grabs Steve’s fingers and wraps his hands around them. 

The whole sequence of Steve interrupting a conversation, sneaking in the narrowest of spaces, and reaching for Tony’s hands is so familiar that Tony almost does not notice the way his hands are now the bigger hands on his lap. It has happened many times before, in press conferences, or galas or even friends get-togethers, with Steve getting extremely anxious after, and Tony reassuring him in between many kisses that Steve has nothing to be worried about and he doesn’t need to physically insert himself between Tony and every living object with sexuality. 

He looks at his hands that are massaging Steve's now smaller fingers and remembers the days he had no reason to even think about Steve leaving. 

The days that he believed Steve’s crazy possessiveness actually meant something.

The days of being royally in love and blissfully stupid. 

He lets go of Steve's hands to rub his painful chest and tries so fucking hard to smile at Steve who has now stopped talking to Nat and is looking at Tony with the same anxious, crazy possessive eyes.

Steve narrows his eyes and his look of disappointment makes Tony’s heart drop just like always. He then grabs Tony’s hands and holds on a little too firmly before he turns back and answers Nat’s last question.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for giving it a try, and I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I'm [avengersNewB](https://avengersnewb.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, come talk to me :)


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